The ABC's of Turtle Tots
by PrinceyAtNight28
Summary: Who doesn't love little turtle tots? Join me and my mutated friends as we explore our favorite turtles' childhood in 26 one-shots! (Third place winner of Best Chibi Turtles in 2014 Stealthy Stories Competition)
1. A is for Abasement

**_The ABC's of Turtle Tots_**

'_A' is for Abasement_

_By: Soniclover28_

_Abasement_: to make somebody feel belittled or degraded.

* * *

Hamato Yoshi—no, that wasn't him anymore—_Splinter_ was in a deep trance. All was quiet, and all was peaceful.

_Inhale_…

_Exhale_…

He repeated this several times, letting the elements around him calm his spirit, and refresh his mind.

When Splinter was in this deep of a trance, only the loudest of noises could break him from his meditative state. Only the shrillest scream could shatter his concentration. Only the hardest shake could throw him from the spiritual world.

This was one of those times.

"_Daddy!" _

The rat's eyes snapped open, revealing sharp brown irises. Splinter stood and rushed towards the obvious cry for assistance.

"Daddy! Dad, Donnie broke the T.V.!" A voice exclaimed in distress.

Sighing in relief that his sons were not in danger, the mutant rat entered the living room to see four kid turtles.

One was pouting on the couch, one was stamping his foot and yelling, one was staring in awe at the sparking television, and one was trying to calm the yelling turtle down.

"Yame!" Splinter barked.

All movement ceased in the room.

The rat turned his head to the turtle that currently wasn't in a state of panic.

"Michelangelo, what happened in here?"

"Donnie broke it," the freckled turtle pointed a green finger at the damaged electronic.

"How?" Splinter asked. He was confused for a moment. It wasn't like his third oldest son to break things; especially since he was usually the one fixing everything, despite being only seven years old.

"He was messin' with the wires and he broke it!" The oldest of the four brothers exclaimed. "_Space Heroes_ was on!"

_Ah._

That was why his usually calm-mannered son was so enraged.

"I am sure you will be able to continue your program after Donatello fixes it. Because he _will_ fix it, correct?" Splinter said, glancing at his techno-talented son.

"Hai, daddy; I should be able to fix it in about twenty minutes."

"But twenty minutes is _forever!_ _Space Heroes_ will be off by then!"

"Perhaps, but I am sure it will come on again. In the meantime, it is time for your lessons. Come, you may fix your television afterwards," Splinter informed the four boys, already turning towards his dojo.

"Hai, sensei," The brothers moaned, and reluctantly followed their father.

* * *

"…And then you must flip the fraction, and that is when you may multiply straight across."

"Oh, I see now; thanks, dad," Donatello smiled in understanding, and fixed his mistake.

Splinter was marveled by his son's intelligence. He was only about seven years old, but he was already starting to learn algebra, and then geometry. Donatello was already reading at a college level, and would soon surpass even Splinter's knowledge on academics.

"What's this word, daddy?"

And then there was Michelangelo.

"That word is 'red', my son."

His youngest son should be learning at a second grade level like his other two brothers, but, unfortunately, he was pretty much stuck between kindergarten and first grade.

A few seconds of silence.

"Daddy, what's this word?"

"That is the word 'fox', Michelangelo."

"'The…red…fox…'m-…ma-…malk…malked…"

A snicker was heard.

"Stop it, Raphie!" The freckled turtle snapped. He looked up at his father again. "What's this word, dad?"

"That word is 'walked.' That is not an 'm', my son; it is a 'w'," Splinter explained, pointing to the confused letter.

"'The…red…fox…walked…to…the'…d-…du-…duz-…duzh-a," The young turtle tried to pronounce the word in his little book, but didn't recognize the strange pronunciation. Splinter simply gave the book a glance and corrected his mistake again.

"That is a 'b', my son," Splinter pointed to what was confused as a 'd', and then the letter confused as a 'z', "That is an 's'. The word is 'bush'."

"Oh…"

Another moment of silence.

"Daddy…?"

"Yes, Michelangelo?" Splinter replied, already turning to look at the next word of the sentence. However, the book was closed and placed in front of the young turtle.

The youngest of four brothers looked up to his father with wet eyes.

"Why can't I read like Leo and Raphie…?" He asked so innocently, so pitifully, that Splinter didn't have the heart to stare into his glistening baby blue eyes for long.

"Because, Michelangelo…" Splinter paused, "Everyone learns at their own pace. You cannot just put a seed into soil and expect it to bloom the next day."

"But I'm not trying to be a flower, daddy," Michelangelo shook his head, "I wanna be smart like Donnie. Why can't I be smart like Donnie?"

Splinter was about to reply, but said turtle beat him to it.

"Technically, Mikey, it's okay that you're not caught up to us."

"Huh?"

Donatello tapped his noggin, "Your brain is different from ours."

Splinter knew where this was going. He had had his own suspicions, but his third oldest had just confirmed them.

"Donatello, your brother is no different from you as he is not different from Leonardo and Raphael," Splinter scolded.

"But dad," Donatello interrupted, "It's obvious. The hyperactivity, the short attention span, the impulsiveness; it all adds up. It has to."

"Wait, so is something wrong with Mikey?" Raphael asked, looking up from doing his math.

"No," Splinter almost said, but Donatello beat him to words again.

"Well, no and yes. He's not in any danger or anything like that. He just has ADD."

"_Donatello!_" Splinter almost never raised his voice.

Donatello flinched and turned to look at his father. The rat stood and narrowed his eyes.

"That was not for you to share. You-"

"Wait, what's ADD?"

Splinter paused when he heard his youngest son's innocent voice again.

"It is nothing. It just means you are able to have much more room for improvement," The rat worded carefully.

Michelangelo blinked.

"Oh…"

"That is all for today. Dismissed," Splinter suddenly said, watching as his sons closed their books and started to carry them off to their room.

"Donatello." The most intelligent son froze in mid-step.

"Yes, dad…?" The young turtle squeaked.

"Stay. I must speak with you."

* * *

"Hands _off_, Mikey!"

"But I wanna hold 'im!"

"No! He's mine!"

"But _Raphie-_!"

"_He's mine!_"

_Crash_!

A wail of pain suddenly echoed through the lair, and Splinter had to cut his lecture short to rush to his son's aid.

He entered the four young turtles' room to see a crying Michelangelo and a fuming Raphael holding his pet turtle in his hands.

"What happened, Raphael?" He asked, picking up the crying child.

"He was tryin' to take Spike from me!" Raphael exclaimed, holding up his baby turtle in his hands.

"And then he pushed me down!" Michelangelo cried, clutching his father's kimono and burying his face into the crook of his furry neck.

"Nuh, uh! I told you to move an' you tripped!" The little turtle retorted.

"Liar!"

"Crybaby!"

"_Raphael_, that was no way to handle the situation. If he simply wished to hold Spike, then you should have at least allowed him to do so," Splinter scolded, patting his youngest son on the back of his shell.

"Last time he held Spike, he tried to paint a rainbow on 'im!" The emerald-eyed turtle argued.

"I just wanted to make 'im pretty!" Michelangelo glared through tears.

"Spike's not a girl! He's not _supposed_ to look pretty!"

"Yame!" Splinter intervened, "Michelangelo was punished after he attempted to do such a thing. You should know better than to hold your brother to what has been done in the past, when there is nothing you can do to change it."

With that said, Splinter placed his freckled son back on the ground, and held his hand out to Raphael.

"Give Spike to me."

"_What? _Why?!" The emerald-eyed turtle cried, pulling his pet closer towards his plastron. However, Splinter simply extended his arm further, his eyes narrowing. Reluctantly, Raphael placed the un-mutated turtle in his father's paw.

Splinter then turned to Michelangelo with Spike, and—much to Raphael's horror—handed him to the freckled turtle.

"Be gentle with Spike, Michelangelo; he is very precious to your brother," the rat said softly.

"M'kay, daddy; I will," The little turtle nodded, eyes already trained on the little turtle in his hands. He slowly sat down on his and his brothers' bed, and smiled in awe as Spike turned his head to look up at his holder.

"Raphael, sit beside your brother until he is finished holding Spike. If I hear that you even touch him before Michelangelo is finished, I will allow your brother to hold him the rest of the night. Am I clear?" Splinter asked, turning to his hot-headed son.

"_Hai_, daddy…" Raphael sighed, settling himself beside his little brother.

Splinter nodded in approval, and left the room.

He entered the living room to see Donatello sitting behind the currently fried television, and Leonardo sitting on the couch holding his Captain Ryan action figure. Although he was missing an arm, and the paint on his face was partially scratched off, Leonardo loved him as if he were in mint condition.

Seeing that all was peaceful for at least twenty minutes, Splinter returned to his dojo and resumed his meditation.

* * *

Splinter's eyes snapped open, ripping him from his trance and throwing him back into the conscious world. Jumping, he looked down and gasped; for he had felt something on his knelt legs, and it had surprised him.

His gaze locked with baby blue eyes, and Splinter immediately relaxed.

"Michelangelo…" Splinter sighed in relief, "You startled me, my son." The small turtle had placed his hand on his father's knee—most likely trying to climb into his lap, as the youngest had a habit of doing.

"Sorry," He mumbled, proceeding to clamber onto his father.

"What troubles you, Michelangelo?" Splinter asked after hearing the sad tone in his son's voice. Rarely did his youngest come to him upset unprovoked. Usually he would only come crying to him when one of his brothers was involved—physically—and that was mainly for attention.

"'Tired…" Was all he said in a soft, innocent voice.

"I suspect that there is more to you coming to me than simply you asking for a nap," Splinter couldn't help but smirk at the memories that came to him about his youngest protesting against the mid-day sleeping sessions.

The freckled turtle buried his face in his father's chest, and Splinter couldn't help but wrap his arms around his youngest.

"Daddy…?"

"Yes, Michelangelo?"

"I don't wanna have add…"

''_Add'…?'_ Splinter thought, blinking. Realization suddenly hit him, and his heart ached for his little freckled son.

"You mean ADD, my son…" Before he could continue, however, his son spoke first, unintentionally interrupting him.

"Can you take it away…? Or…Or can Donnie fix it…? Donnie's good at fixin' stuff…" Michelangelo mumbled, tracing the pattern on his father's kimono with his green finger.

"Michelangelo… Let me explain something to you… You are no different from your brothers… You are no better, but you are no less, either. Everyone grows differently, and everyone learns their own way… Having ADD only means you have a bit more of a challenge learning than your brothers do, but your brothers have their own challenges, as well," Splinter explained, gently stroking the back of his son's shell.

The mutant rat knew that Michelangelo didn't truly understand what ADD was, only that it meant he was different from his brothers.

"When's it gonna go away…?" Michelangelo asked softly, his voice growing noticeably quiet.

Splinter sighed, his ears drooping ever so slightly.

"I do not know, my son…" He said, closing his eyes. "I do not know."

"Hey…daddy…?" Michelangelo yawned, turning his head to show Splinter his half-closed eyes, "Thanks…and… I love you…"

He laid his head against his father's chest, and Splinter couldn't help but smile fondly down at his most innocent son.

"And I love you, my son…"

After Michelangelo's eyes drifted shut, Splinter carefully stood and carried him to his and his brothers' bedroom. He tucked him in the middle of the bed, where he usually slept, and placed a brown stuffed bear beside his head. He quietly left the room, heading to check on his other sons.

As he moved out of the doorway, however, he caught a glimpse of green bolt inside the bedroom behind him. He almost called to whichever son had run in to warn them of the sleeping turtle, but caught himself just in time as he peeked back inside the room.

Raphael, with Spike in hand, carefully climbed onto the bed, and quietly settled in his spot on the mattress—right beside his little brother.

Sensitive ears pricked when he heard the emerald-eyed turtle whisper quietly.

"Spike wanted to make sure you were okay…"

Splinter smiled fondly and left his sons to rest.

* * *

**Me: **Okay, I'm sorry, but I had to do it! I am TRYING to get back to my Sonic stories but the ninja turtles are just so dang AWESOME! *cough* ahem... Since we're going over our ABC's, that means we have 26 one-shots to do! YAY! (im doing this so that I can work on endings for stories, and work on displaying character personalities and all that nice jazz...)

I hope you all liked! Leave a review and tell me what you think!

Peace! ;)


	2. B is for Brutish

The ABC's of Turtle Tots

'_B' is for Brutish _

_By: Soniclover28_

_Brutish: _cruel, ruthless, or violent in behavior, actions, or instincts…

…Also known as Raphael.

* * *

"Mmmh… gummeh… brrs…" A drowsy, sluggish voice mumbled, another dribble of drool rolling off of the speaker's chin…

…And right onto Raphael's plastron.

He tried not to cringe as his seven-year-old little brother continued to add to the pool of saliva on his chest. His arm was asleep—courtesy of Michelangelo using it as a pillow—so it wasn't like he could move, anyways. On his other side, his older brother, Leonardo, was currently shifting in his sleep. His leg twitched, and Raphael knew what was coming. He tensed, and tried not to jump when his older brother kicked him in his sleep.

Emerald eyes were trained on the pipes on the ceiling, while their owner held back a gag at another round of drool on his chest. He tried nudging his little brother off of him so that he could at least wipe the spit off of his body with the blankets, but Michelangelo wouldn't budge the slightest.

It was late, he could tell; it had to have been at least midnight, which was way past their bedtime at nine-thirty. Raphael sighed.

He was going to be a _zombie_ in the morning.

After another agonizing ten minutes of getting kicked in the thigh and drooled on, Raphael's eyes finally started to drift shut. He was so close to unconsciousness, and he welcomed it with arms wide open.

Until his eyes snapped back open when he heard an abrupt snoring. Carefully lifting his head up, he glanced over at his _other _brother, Donatello, to see that he was lying at an odd angle, and was snoring loudly—_too_ loudly.

Another kick; a snore; more drool. Another snore; a drip of drool; more kicks.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Raphie…" A faint voice whined. "Raphie…Wake up," It whined again.

Raphael growled irritably and drowsily told his little brother to go away.

"Raphie…!" The voice grew a bit more urgent.

Raphael growled again.

"Raphie, I gotta go pee, and _you're hurting me_."

_This_ got Raphael's attention.

Blinking his eyes open, Raphael lifted his head, trying to ignore the sticky feeling on his chest and the throbbing in his thigh. He groggily lifted his head up, meeting the slightly pained gaze of his little brother.

"What is it, Mikey…?" He yawned. It was then that he felt something tug underneath the side of his shell, and looked to see Michelangelo's arm under his side. He immediately lifted himself up, blinking when he realized he had rolled over on the freckled turtle's arm.

The baby blue-eyed turtle winced and rubbed the now reddish line on his forearm, tracing it with a green finger. The edge of Raphael's shell had been digging into his tender little arm, and when Michelangelo had tried to get it unstuck, Raph had only shifted and put even more weight on his arm.

Raphael, after realizing no real threat was there, mumbled something of an apology and plopped his head back into his pillow.

He sighed when he heard his little brother giggle.

"What is it, Mike…?" He asked, not bothering to lift his face from his pillow.

"Silly; Sensei said that it's time to get up," He said, sitting back on his knees.

Raphael groaned and slowly pushed himself from the comfort of his mattress, gritting his teeth when the sheets stuck to the corner of his drool-covered plastron. It was then that he realized his other brothers were already out of bed, and he rubbed his eyes as he, too, slid off of the worn mattress.

He padded into the hall that held his and his brothers' bedroom, as well as three spare rooms, and yawned as he made the journey to the kitchen for breakfast.

"_Hey_—hey, Raphie," Michelangelo bounced behind him, trying to get his attention.

"What is it, Mike…?" Raphael sighed, rubbing an encrusted eye.

"Guess what I had a dream about last night! I-"

"I don't care."

"-was eating gummy bears and then I-"

"I said I don't _care_."

"-eventually got swallowed by a yellow one—_eugh_, it was nasty—and then I-"

"Shut up!" Raphael growled, turning to glare at his younger brother. The seven-year-old flinched, blinked, and eventually giggled at the stronger turtle's face.

"Raphie, you have circles on your face," He smiled, and pointed to his own eyes to demonstrate. "You look like a zombie!" Michelangelo giggled again, sticking his tongue out and making his best impression of an undead turtle.

"Wahhr… I'm gonna eat yer _brains_…!" Michelangelo moaned in a slurred, deepened voice.

Raphael's glare hardened, and he shoved his idiotic brother before continuing to the kitchen.

He plopped down at the table, propping the side of his face on his hand, and briefly letting his eyes drift closed. When he opened them again, he found a plate of green mush and worms in front of him.

He picked up a spoon and dug in.

Maybe—he figured—breakfast would help wake the young turtle up. Worms and algae usually always got him in a bit of a better mood—a full Raph was a happy Raph.

That was not the case today.

* * *

"Mikey, get outta the way," Raphael warned, stretching his head up in an attempt to see over his little brother's feet.

The freckled turtle was lying on his stomach, swinging his feet in the air just in front of the television, humming along to the theme song of his morning program. He completely ignored his older brother.

"Mikey, I said move!" The irritated turtle growled.

"Chill, Raph; his legs'll fall asleep in a second," Donatello replied from the other side of the couch, not bothering to look up from the book he was currently reading.

"Yeah, Raphie; _chill_," Michelangelo chimed, and Raphael didn't have to see his brother's face to know that he was smirking.

Raphael growled again, his patience wearing away.

"I said to _move!_" He raised his voice, tensing himself and preparing to rise from the couch.

Leonardo, who was sitting beside Michelangelo—and could see the television just _fine,_ mind you—simply rolled his eyes and nudged his littlest brother in a silent warning.

The freckled turtle merely smiled a little bigger, and continued to swing his legs.

"You don't sound very _chill_, Raphie," He said teasingly.

Raphael snapped.

He launched himself from the couch, tackling his brother, and putting him into an immediate head lock before his little brother could blink. Though he was laughing uncontrollably, the freckled turtle started thrashing wildly in a futile attempt to escape his brother's grasp.

Infuriated by the fact that Michelangelo was laughing—_laughing_—at him while he was trying to shut him up, Raphael tightened his hold on his little brother, a bit satisfied when he gave a cough of discomfort.

Yet, he still laughed in that annoyingly, ear-grinding, nerve-tearing voice of joy.

He tightened his hold further, ignoring the small protest from his only older brother, who couldn't hear _Space Heroes_ over their rough-housing.

"Raphi-" Mikey squeaked in discomfort, cut off when Raphael squeezed his neck harder. Another cough escaped him, finally ceasing his laughter.

"Tap out!" Raphael snarled.

"_Can't—need—air—now!_" He gasped.

"I said to _tap out!_" Raphael ground out through clenched teeth, putting his little brother's throat in a vice-grip.

Through the slight dizziness in his head, Michelangelo slapped the ground three times, and his neck was released from the bars of iron his older brother called arms. He gasped loudly, getting on his hands and knees, coughing, and trying to catch his breath again.

"My sons, is everything alright?" The sound of Splinter's voice sounded from the dojo, and the rat popped his head around the door.

"Yeah-" Mikey coughed, rising to his feet and rubbing his Adam's apple. "Yeah, dad; everything's cool."

Splinter cocked a suspicious eyebrow, and, after glancing at all four of his sons, nodded and retreated back to his dojo.

Once he was gone, Raphael sent a final glare at his littlest brother, and stormed off towards his and his brothers' bedroom.

* * *

"…So then I choked him out. He tapped out like a crybaby, Spike; you shoulda seen 'im," Raphael chuckled, stroking his pet turtle's shell as he stood on the mutated turtle's chest. Raphael gently held out a leaf his father had picked from the tree in his dojo to Spike, and the little turtle took a bite out of the leaf. Raphael smiled.

He loved Spike so much.

Raphael's head snapped to the side in surprise as he heard footsteps, and watched as Donatello entered the small room, holding a thick book in his hands.

"Hi, Raph," He greeted, glancing at him before rummaging around in the small chest he always kept under the bed. He soon rose back to his feet with a pencil and a notepad, along with the book he still held, and padded out of the room without another word.

Raphael, after his neck started to ache, carefully lifted Spike off of his plastron and gently placed him on the sheets of the mattress he sat on. Before he could do anything else, though, Donatello stuck his head back into the room.

"Mikey colored in your comics," He stated bluntly, and turned away from the door again. Raphael blinked.

And then processed what he'd said.

"What?!" Raphael exclaimed, grabbing Spike and rushing out of the room. He looked around frantically, placing Spike on his shoulder and letting him balance there as he spotted his brother.

He was, indeed coloring in a book with his small supply of markers, crayons, and colored pencils on his stomach with a very focused look on his face.

"_Mikey!_"

The freckled turtle jumped, throwing his crayon up in the air in surprise as he looked up to see his big brother standing over him.

"Oh, hey, Raphie; you scared me," Michelangelo giggled in relief, sitting up on his knees.

"Where are my comics?!" He immediately asked, his fists clenching.

Michelangelo shrugged, "'Dunno. Last time I seen 'em, you was readin' 'em on the toilet."

Raphael blinked, a bit thrown by the response. However, he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts again. "Donnie told me you was colorin' in 'em," He glared at his little brother.

"When?"

"Just now!"

The freckled turtle shrugged again, "I didn't touch your comics, Raphie."

"Then what're you colorin' on right now?" He asked skeptically, crossing his arms.

Michelangelo glanced down at the book he was coloring in, and answered hesitantly, "An… old coloring book Sensei found…yesterday…"

Raphael didn't look convinced, but before he could question his little brother any further, he heard his father's voice ring from the kitchen.

"My sons, lunch is prepared. I suggest you come and eat before the worms escape your plate."

Raphael turned his head back in the direction of his little brother to continue their conversation, but only saw empty space as Michelangelo picked up his supplies and carried them off into his shared room before bounding towards the kitchen.

'_New coloring book, huh…? We'll see about that…'_

* * *

Raphael was mortified.

His new comic books—they were _ruined_. Poorly drawn rainbows and unicorns decorated every other page in at least half of his comics. On the last page of every comic book, however, was a bunch of scribbles Raphael quickly recognized as his little brother's handwriting.

'_Dont evr chock me agen. Pee. S. Mikey waz heer.'_

"_**Mikey!**_"

* * *

"_Raphie! Raphie, stop it! __**Raphie!**_" Michelangelo wailed, futilely trying to snatch his crayons back from his older brother.

With a snap, three more crayons were added to the small pile of crushed utensils in the floor of the four brothers' room.

"You shouldn't have touched my comics!" Raphael snarled back, shoving his little brother to the ground, and picking up two thin markers. The freckled turtle scrambled back to his feet, and threw himself back to his older sibling; failing to grab his markers before Raphael snapped them, too, causing green and orange liquid to splatter onto the floor and cover the two turtles.

"Raphie, I'm sorry! I'm _sorry,_ Raphie! Stop! _Stop it!_" Michelangelo cried, tears beginning to dribble down his cheeks.

It had taken years to collect all of his precious coloring utensils—especially since anyone rarely threw out usable ones. They meant a lot to Michelangelo, and now Raphael was destroying them.

"'_Sorry'_ don't fix my comics!"

Four more pencils were broken in half.

"_Raphie, stop!_"

Half a dozen pieces of chalk were thrown to the ground, crushing them into powder upon impact.

All of his chalk—_gone_.

It had taken his father so long to stumble upon a few packets of chalk that a school had thrown into the dumpsters. Michelangelo thought it couldn't get any worse than that.

And then Raphael picked up a paintbrush.

The freckled turtle gasped in horror.

That wasn't just any paintbrush—it was Michelangelo's _only _paintbrush. It was the only paintbrush he'd ever seen—the only one he'd ever touched. He had fallen in love with the thing as soon as his father had explained its purpose. Though it was rather small, and most of the bristles had been torn off, Michelangelo cherished the utensil, and took very good care of it.

"Raphie… Raphie, _no_…" Michelangelo hiccupped desperately.

Raphael merely glared and put his hands on either side of the brush, crushing the remaining bristles.

"Raphie, _please…!_"

The older turtle snarled, "Maybe now you'll think twice about touching my stuff!"

"_**Raphie, no!**_"

With a sickening snap, the paintbrush was no more, and Michelangelo burst into tears. Shrieking, the freckled turtle hurled himself at his big brother, knocking him to the ground.

"What is going on in here?!" Splinter suddenly appeared, and stopped short when he beheld the mess of the small bedroom. Ink, chalk dust, shredded paper, and pieces of crayon and pencils littered the floor—somehow none of it touched the mattress in the back of the room.

The mutant rat's attention was grabbed by two of his sons when one of them was shoved across the room, causing him to ram into the wall and fall backwards on his shell. Instead of getting back up to continue his brawl, the turtle—who Splinter quickly recognized as Michelangelo—instinctively sucked himself into his shell in response to his distress, the entire form shuddering as heart-breaking sobs echoed throughout the room.

"Michelangelo!" Splinter exclaimed, rushing over to his withdrawn son. He gingerly picked him up, and started rubbing calming circles on his plastron. His head snapped up to look for the source of his son's pain, and locked gazes with Raphael, who looked both livid and close to tears.

"What have you done to your brother?" Splinter demanded.

"_He_ started it!" Raphael defended angrily. "He colored in my comics, sensei! He _ruined_ them!" Now a few hot tears were dripping down Raphael's face. "Those took forever to get, sensei! Now they're _gone!_" He cried, clenching his fists and stamping his foot on the floor. "I _hate_ him!"

"_Raphael_!" Splinter rebuked, "I never want to hear you say that ever again! You will go into the kitchen and calm your temper while I try to coax your brother out of his shell! _Now!_"

"He's jus' bein' a crybaby," Raphael muttered on his way out of the bedroom.

"I do not want to hear another word from you!" Splinter snapped, making Raphael flinch.

His father rarely ever got this mad. Nevertheless, Raphael trudged to the kitchen, ignoring the awed faces of his other two brothers as he stomped past them.

"What did you _do_?" Donatello asked, his mouth agape.

"Shut up," Was all Raphael said, wiping furiously at his leaking eyes.

* * *

"Raphael."

Said turtle's head shot up from his crossed arms on the table, stifling a gasp of surprise as he recognized his father.

He didn't say a word as the mutant rat calmly took a seat across from his son, all the while stroking the fur that hung from his chin.

"Yes, daddy…?" He squeaked after a few moments of just staring at each other.

"Your brother is very upset. It took me longer than I can ever recall bringing him out of his shell," Splinter started. "He was not coherent enough to tell me what happened, so I expect you will. Will you do that for me, my son?"

"Hai, daddy…" Raphael nodded once.

He explained how he had come to find out that Michelangelo lied to him about not coloring in his comics, and how Raphael 'returned the favor' by destroying something Mikey equally treasured. He finished by saying that his little brother got infuriated and attacked him, and that was when his father had arrived.

Splinter was silent for a long time, thoughtfully stroking his chin fur again.

"It seems that you are both at fault," He finally said, "From what I understand, Raphael, since Michelangelo damaged something of yours, you saw fit to damage something of his. Am I correct?"

"Hai, sensei," Raphael nodded, still pondering about how much trouble he was going to be in.

"I see. So just because Michelangelo hurt you, you saw to it that you got even?"

"Well… hai, sensei," Raphael blinked, unable to see where exactly his father was going with his lecture.

"Raphael, just because your brother did something to you, does not mean that you are obligated to have revenge. You had the option of simply coming to me and telling me your issue, instead of stooping down to your brother's level of soon-to-be shame and humility," Splinter's gaze hardened a bit, making Raphael stiffen a little.

When the young turtle had nothing to say, the mutant rat lifted his head a bit, and informed his child of his punishment.

"You and Michelangelo are to clean up the mess in you and your brothers' room once he has calmed himself. You will also see to it to apologize to him with all sincerity, and you will go to bed early tonight."

"But sensei!" Raphael had the nerve to protest, "_He_ started it! Why do _I _have to apologize?! Why isn't _he_ getting in trouble?! _He's_ the one who was drooling on me all night last night, and _Leo_ was the one kicking me in the thigh, and _Donnie_'s the one who wouldn't—stop—_snoring_! Why am _I _the one in trouble?!"

"_Yame_!" Splinter snapped, silencing the exploding turtle. "Michelangelo's punishment is none of your concern. You _will_ go to your brother and apologize as I have told you to do and, you _will_ work together to clean up the mess that _you_ have made. I will hear nothing more on the matter, and I expect you to be mature enough to accept the consequence of your wrongdoing. Now _go._"

Taking a deep breath to stifle his tears, Raphael quickly jumped out of his seat and ran out of the kitchen. He stopped when he got to the pit of his living room, emerald eyes locked onto his youngest brother and his oldest brother in an embrace.

Michelangelo was _still_ sobbing his little heart out.

Raphael almost huffed in irritation at his overacting brother, but a glare from Leonardo, who was facing him from the position on the couch he was on, made him stop and send a glare of his own. Nevertheless, the stocky turtle hesitantly made his way over towards the couch in which his two brothers were sitting on, but froze as he heard Michelangelo's tired, croaky voice continue to whisper to his big brother.

"It's _gone_…" He hiccupped, "I was-" Another hitch of the breath, "I was gonna be an _artist_, just like-" Another sob, "Just like the _other_ Michelangelo. I was- I was gonna make Raphie _proud_—I was- I was gonna make _all_ you guys proud; now he _hates_ me! _N-now, he_…"

Something in Raphael's heart broke at those words, and his tears started to well up again, the drops of water stubbornly trying to overflow from his eyelids.

"_I _hate_ him!"_

Raphael winced at the memory, and his fists clenched. "_Mikey,_" He breathed pitifully, his voice shaking. "_Mikey!_" He cried, finally kicking away his pride and throwing himself at his little brother. He threw his arms around Michelangelo, turning him around, ripping him from Leonardo's grasp, and burying his head into the crook of his little brother's neck.

For a reason unknown to Raphael, Michelangelo didn't seem startled at this action; didn't seem surprised at the sudden embrace. Shaky hands wrapped themselves around Raphael, and he felt a wet face dig into his shoulder.

"I don't hate you, Mikey! _I don't hate you! _I don't hate you and don't you _ever_ think that!" He sobbed, his hold on his little brother tightening. "I _love_ you! I love you _so_ much, Mikey, and I'm _sorry_ I tore up your stuff, and I'm _sorry_ I made you upset, and I'm _sorry that I'm a terrible big brother!_"

Raphael sucked in a shaky breath, awaiting his little brother's response. He felt his brother shaking his head against his skin, and a small, strained voice reached his ears.

"You're not a bad big bro… And I love you, too, Raphie… I-I love you, too. And… I-I'm sorry I wrote in your books. I didn't mean to make you that mad… And… And it's okay… Daddy can find it all again, and then we can _both_ be artists…" Michelangelo hiccupped tiredly.

"I think I'd like that, Little Brother," Raphael couldn't help but smile fondly over his sibling's shoulder, pressing the side of his head against the other's noggin.

…

"Raphie…?"

"Yeah, Mikey?"

"You're calmed down now, right? You're not mad at me anymore?"

"No, I'm not mad at you anymore," Raphael smirked, slowly pulling himself from his little brother's arms.

"Okay… So can I tell you something…?" Mikey asked, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

"Sure," Raphael blinked.

Michelangelo planted a quick peck on his big brother's forehead before murmuring, "I love you, too, big bro."

Raphael smiled and rubbed the top of Michelangelo's head fondly.

"Good to know, little brother," He said, "Good to know."

With that, Raphael leaned against the back of the couch, and Michelangelo leaned back on his shoulder as his older brother put an arm around him lovingly. They were joined by Leonardo and Donatello, and soon, all four boys were fast asleep.

Splinter smiled, draped a blanket over his sons, and went to clean the mess in the four brothers' room.


	3. C is for Curiosity

The ABC's of Turtle Tots

'_C' is for Curiosity_

_By: Soniclover28_

_Curiosity_\- eagerness to know about something or to get information

* * *

Splinter was a kind, patient soul.

"Daddy, what that?"

He was very slow to anger.

"That is the television remote, my son."

He was never caught losing his temper for no reason.

"Daddy, what that?"

He was always very calm and collected when it came to a patience test of sorts.

"That is the toaster, my son."

Not even the shrillest of noises, the repetitive ticking of a clock, or the constant dripping of water could rally him up.

"Daddy, what that?"

He could take a deep breath a few times, and let his anger flow like river over stone, as he once said himself.

"That is the tire swing, my son."

And if all else had failed, he would simply meditate for a few hours until he had calmed himself.

"Daddy, what that?"

Well, at least he _used_ to before he started to raise two-and-a-half-year-old turtle tots.

"My son, that is the television remote—I have told you this many times."

Now he just tried not to duct tape their mouths shut when they were being overly exasperating.

"Daddy, what that?"

"Donatello, surely you are tired; your brothers have already been put to bed. Do you want to rest, as well?" Splinter gave a hopeful look to his most night owl-like son.

"No," Donatello smiled, and made his way towards the kitchen.

The mutant rat sighed in exasperation and followed his wandering son. He rubbed an eye and gave a small yawn, mentally scolding himself for letting his sons have candy before bedtime.

The little turtle toddled over to the refrigerator, stared at it for a moment, and turned back to his father.

"Daddy, what that?"

"That is the fridge, my son."

"'Fidge'," Donatello giggled, marveled somehow by the word. He glanced back at his father and pointed to the kitchen appliance. "That fidge, daddy."

"Yes, my son. Would you like to rest now?" Splinter asked for the umpteenth time that night. Or was it morning? The rat looked at the stove, read the time, and sighed again.

"No," Donatello smiled, shaking his head. He soon turned to leave the kitchen, hobbling underneath the curtain that served as a door as he did so. Then he stopped in the doorway. "Daddy, what that?"

"That is a curtain, my son."

"Cur-tain," Donnie repeated, smiling again as he turned to his father. "That curtain, daddy."

"You are correct, Donatello. Would you like to rest _now?_" Splinter asked, though already knowing the answer.

Donatello giggled again, shaking his head as he started towards the living room.

The father and son did this for about thirty more minutes before Donatello finally let loose a yawn.

"I go seep wif' 'eo and Ra-_ff_? I go seep wif' Mi-tey…?" He asked, tugging on his father's kimono.

Splinter nodded, smiling softly as his son's drooping eyes. He gently lifted the small turtle up and took him to his and his brothers' room. The ninjustu master carefully placed the dozing toddler beside his younger brother, Michelangelo, and covered him up with part of the quilt the four boys shared.

Before he left the room, however, he noticed that Michelangelo had his head at an odd angle, while his leg rested on top of Raphael's chest. Because his head was lying in such a way, nasally breaths were escaping him, and Splinter flinched at the noise.

Wondering how the freckled turtle even got in that position, he slowly and cautiously lifted his leg off of his older brother's plastron, and fixed the way his head was hanging off the side of the pillow. He waited another moment to see if he had accidently roused him, and, when he appeared to still be very much asleep, Splinter left the room and headed towards his own hold.

* * *

"Dad... wate up… Wate up, daddy."

Splinter blinked his eyes open and turned his head towards his oldest son, Leonardo, to see distressed blue orbs.

"What is it, my son?" Splinter sat up from his mat, fully awake once he saw the scared look of his toddler.

"Mi-tey… Mi-tey _bleh_," The tot tried to explain. "Mi-tey _bleh_."

Immediately knowing what his oldest was talking about, Splinter shot off of the mat, picking up his son, and rushing into the four brothers' bedrooms. Once he arrived, he grimaced as a rancid smell entered his nose, and he scanned worriedly around the room.

On the bed, withdrawn and surrounded by vomit, was his youngest son. Raphael, who the freckled turtle normally slept against, was pretty much coated in the toddler's innards, and was wiping furiously at his arms, chest, and shoulder.

"Ew," He kept repeating. "_Ew_."

Donatello, however, seemed fascinated by his little brother's mess, and was poking at it curiously. Once he saw his father in the doorway, he held up his slime-covered hand and asked, "What that? What that, daddy?"

Splinter picked up his withdrawn son, choosing to ignore the mess to see if his youngest was out of danger.

"Michelangelo," he called softly into the shell, turning him so that his plastron was facing the ceiling. He started rubbing calming circles on his stomach and chest area, and glanced into the shell to see that the tot's face was scrunched up in pain. "Michelangelo, my son, you must come out of your shell so that I may help you."

After a few more moments of cooing and calming circles, the little turtle slowly poked his head out of his shell, his arms and legs shortly following.

"What is the matter, my son? Where are you in pain?"

"Be-wy… Be-wy…Ow..." Michelangelo whimpered, and then started wiping his tongue off on his hand, "Ew…"

Splinter placed the back of his paw on his youngest son's forehead, puzzled when it felt just a tad too cold. The freckled turtle had been practically bouncing off the walls just last night before crashing on the couch on top of his oldest brother's lap. He hadn't acted as if he were feeling bad.

A tugging on his kimono made the old rat lose his train of thought and look down to see Raphael making an uncomfortable face.

"Ew," He whined, working the remnants of Michelangelo's vomit between his fingers. The mutant rat sighed in dismay as he realized his kimono was now covered in the gunk, and simply led all of his sons into the living room, turned on their morning program, and scooped up Raphael in his arms with Michelangelo.

He carried them the short distance into the old abandoned subway's bathroom. Using a giant bucket he had found in the dumpsters one day, he filled it up with water from the sink and placed his sons into the container after stripping them of their diapers. Being careful to support a half-dozing Michelangelo, Splinter started bathing his sons.

Raphael, as if sensing his little brother's distress, offered a little rubber ducky with a hole in it to the sick turtle.

"Mi-tey want toy? Mi-tey play?" The emerald-eyed turtle asked, placing the toy duck in front of Michelangelo.

The baby blue-eyed turtle merely glanced tiredly at the thing and leaned his head against his father's chest, who was knelt beside the tub and bent over the young turtle.

* * *

"Daddy, what that? What that, daddy?" Donatello pointed to the thing currently sticking out of his baby brother's mouth.

"That is a thermometer, my son."

"What… What do, daddy? What do?" Donatello asked, big brown eyes studying the instrument. He stood on his tippy-toes, olive green fingers pushing himself higher on the edge of the couch.

Splinter, while pleased at the new part of speech his son had just acquired, softly hushed his son. "It is taking your brother's temperature," He said, adjusting the blanket his youngest was wrapped around in his lap.

"'Temp-ture'…?" Donatello repeated. "What temp-ture, daddy?"

Splinter merely gave a small smile and chuckled quietly. "Go and play with your brothers, my son. Leonardo and Raphael are expecting you." The rat nodded to the two oldest of the four brothers, who were sitting religiously in front of the television. Donatello blinked at his father, gave a last glance at Michelangelo, and joined the two other toddlers.

With a long, high-pitched beep, a small light started to go off on the thermometer, almost making Splinter jump. He gently took it out of the snoozing turtle's mouth, and studied the readings. He hummed in concern when he realized that his son's body heat was continuing to dissipate.

Accompanied by a bad cough and a runny nose, the decrease in temperature was starting to worry the rat. At first he figured it might have been just a cold, but then he remembered that his son had had an upset stomach that morning.

Maybe it was all that mucus in his stomach that made him regurgitate. Maybe it was too much candy last night. Or maybe…

Splinter's ears twitched.

…Maybe it was something worse than a simple cold.

"Daddy…"

Splinter's sharp brown eyes snapped downwards to meet with baby blue.

"Daddy… I have ted' bear…? Ted' bear go seep wif' me…?" Michelangelo asked half-consciously.

"Of course, my son," Splinter smiled, his worry from earlier currently being forgotten. He looked up and to his other three sons in front of the television.

"Leonardo," Splinter addressed, and said turtle's head snapped around. "Will you go and retrieve your brother's toy?"

The toddler blinked.

"Go and get 'ted' bear."

Leonardo smiled and hopped up from his place on the floor before hurrying off towards his and his brothers' room. He came back a few moments later with a tattered, light brown teddy bear with a button eye missing, and a few small rips around its abdomen.

"I got ted' bear, daddy. Ted' bear seep wif' Mi-tey," Leonardo presented the old toy to his father, who thanked him and gently handed it to the sick infant in his arms.

Michelangelo gave a tired smile at his 'ted' bear', and took it from his father, and hugged it close to his chest, closing his eyes again as he did so. He soon drifted off, and Splinter placed him on the couch cushion beside him before heading to the kitchen to prepare lunch and some tea.

* * *

Splinter scooped up a spoonful of worms and algae before putting it on one of the four plates he had with a sickening 'plop'. He stuck a plastic spoon in all four plates, and placed them in their appropriate spots on the table.

After glancing at his teapot on the stove, which was close to boiling, he went into his living room and almost called to his sons when he stopped to behold a heart-melting scene.

Michelangelo was still curled up on the couch where the mutant rat had left him, but he had gained some… company.

His three brothers, Leonardo, Raphael, and Donatello, where all cuddled up to their younger sibling. The older three turtles weren't quite asleep, but Michelangelo seemed to be in a deep and peaceful slumber.

Splinter smiled. He softly called his conscious sons for lunch, deciding to let Michelangelo wake up on his own if need be. He retreated back to the kitchen when he saw his three older sons slide off of the couch.

* * *

"Daddy, what that?"

"That is a dish rag, my son," Splinter replied without as much as a sideways glance to the brown-eyed turtle.

"Di_-sh_ rag? That di-_sh_ rag, daddy?" Donatello asked.

"Yes, my son."

After he wiped the last plate clean, he put them in their respective place in the cabinets, and headed towards the living room. Donatello followed his father, staring intently at the pink tail trailing behind the rat.

"Daddy, what that?" He asked.

Splinter turned his head, chuckling as his son knelt down behind him.

"That is my tail, Donatello."

"What tail do, Daddy? What tail do?" The brown-eyed toddler asked, poking at the appendage, and jumping when it twitched.

Splinter blinked. He'd never really thought about his tail's purpose. All it did was twitch and swish behind him, dragging across the floor and collecting dust.

"I do not know," He answered.

Donatello seemed to accept this reply and toddled out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Splinter, after a quick glance at his tail, followed his son, and observed his four toddlers after noticing the youngest was no longer asleep. Instead, he was in the pit with Leonardo, Raphael and Donatello. They were sitting in front of the television, leaning on each other as the theme song of the program they were watching started playing.

Michelangelo was smiling and giggling with the rest of his brothers as their program started up, and Splinter couldn't help but smile.

It seemed as though he were healing.

"Michelangelo," Splinter called softly. The freckled turtle turned his head and searched for the mutant rat, and, once he spotted him, stood up and hobbled over to him.

"Daddy," He smiled, reaching his hands up in a request for being held.

The ninja master lifted his son into his arms, and placed the back of his paw upon his forehead and cheek.

He seemed warmer, which was a good sign, but Splinter was still a bit worried, so he went and fetched a thermometer. He carefully slipped the piece of equipment underneath Michelangelo's tongue, telling him to hold still as he did so. When the device gave of a high-pitched whine, Splinter pulled it out of his son's mouth and looked at the results.

"It seems you are healing, my son," Splinter sighed in relief, more to himself than his toddler. He tenderly ran a hand across the top of his son's head, and gently placed him back on the ground after he did so.

"Daddy?" Michelangelo suddenly asked, gazing up at the thermometer in Splinter's hand. He pointed to it. "What that, daddy?"

'_Here we go…' _The rat thought, and told his son what the instrument he was holding was.

"Teh-…mom-…ater. Teh-mom-ater!" Michelangelo giggled at the word, and turned to his three big brothers. "Daddy have teh-mom-ater, 'eo! Wa-_ff, '_nnie! Daddy have teh-mom-ater!"

"Take temp-ture!" Donatello added, as if Michelangelo were missing a vital piece of information. "Teh-meter take temp-ture!"

Splinter smiled at the small conversation taking place, and seated himself of the couch. He watched in both pride and amusement as Donatello started pointing to objects and teaching his brothers their names.

"That tel-vish-ion _re_-mote; turn chan-_nels_," The brown-eyed turtle informed his siblings, holding up the named item.

"What that, 'nnie?" Michelangelo called to his brother, while pointing at Splinter.

The young turtle blinked, but suddenly smiled. Splinter noted a small gap between his teeth that he hadn't seen before. It made him look… Splinter chuckled. It made him look pretty cute. The mutant rat was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a tugging on his tail, and looked to see Donatello grabbing it and attempting to hold it up in the air for his brothers to see.

"Tail, Mi-tey! Tail!" The young toddler exclaimed proudly.

"D'nnie! What that, D'nnie?" Splinter's attention was brought to Raphael, who was holding up a few quilts he'd been using earlier.

"Blank-tet, Ra-_ff. _Blank-tet," Donnie said.

"Don-_nie_!" Leonardo called from across the room, holding up another random object he'd found. "What that, Don-_nie_?"

"That pi-doe, Le-_o_. Pi-doe."

Leonardo attempted to repeat the word. "_Pee_-doe?" He giggled. "_Pee_-doe." The blue-eyed turtle held the pillow close to his chest, smiling at his family.

"_Pee_-doe." Michelangelo suddenly repeated, and broke into a fit of giggles. "_Pee_-doe!"

Splinter couldn't help but chuckle as well. Suddenly getting an idea, he rushed out of the room and came back with a digital camera. He directed his sons into somewhat of a picture-worthy position, and snapped a quick photo of his four children.

His sons.

His babies.

His little boys.

His little Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo.

"What that, daddy?"

Splinter smiled.

* * *

_**Me:** _And there you have it! The third part of your Abc's! Tell me what you think! Good, or bad! I'm open to advice.


	4. D is for Dreams

The ABC's of Turtle Tots

'_D' is for Dreams_

_By: Soniclover28_

_Dreams: an idea or hope that is impractical or unlikely ever to be realized._

* * *

"_Somewhere over the rainbow;_

_Way up high._

_And the dreams that you dreamed of_

_Once in a lullaby._

**.:~:.**

_Oh, somewhere over the rainbow_

_Blue birds fly._

_And the dream that you dreamed of—_

_Dreams really do come true._"

_Somewhere Over the Rainbow_

~Israel Kamakawiwo'ole

* * *

"Leo, your foot's on my neck…!"

"Ma-kay…! 'ou're 'oots in 'ah 'ou-ff…!"

"Whoops, sorry, Leo."

"Will you guys _shh_? They're gonna hear us…!"

"Just hurry up, Donnie!"

"I'm almost done, Raph!"

Donnie steadied himself better on top of Michelangelo's shell, leaning against the sewer wall for support. After peeking through the sewer drain for a few seconds, he jotted more notes down on his notepad. The structure he was standing on suddenly wobbled, and he leaned against the sewer wall again.

"Steady, guys! Be careful!" Donnie instructed, glaring down at his three brothers.

They were stacked in a ladder of sorts, from strongest to weakest on their hands and knees with Donnie standing on top so he could see through the sewer drain.

"Well, sorry, but you guys aren't exactly easy to lift," Raphael, who was on bottom, huffed, his arms starting to tremble.

"C'mon, Donnie, I gotta pee!" Mikey suddenly exclaimed, bouncing lightly on top of Leonardo's shell.

"Mikey, hold still! You're gonna make us fall," Leonardo warned, who was on top of Raphael, and underneath his baby brother.

"Mikey, if we fall, I'm stuffing you in a sewer pipe!"

"Shh!" Donnie hushed, putting his ear hole closer to the sewer drain.

"Don't _'shush'_ me! I-"

"_Shh! _Listen!" Donatello interrupted.

"…I can't believe you…! Can't you see…? Why did you choose _her_…? That tramp…! Don't ever talk to me… I hate you…! How could you…?! " The faint sound of a girl's voice caught the four young boys' attention, making them glance up and down at each other excitedly.

A human! A real human!

Donnie held his breath, his eyes searching through the sewer drain frantically for the source of the voice. They scanned the streets carefully, looking for the slightest movement on the dark roads and sidewalks of New York.

The voice got closer as the sound of running high heels was heard, followed by much heavier shoes.

"Savannah, wait! You don't understand! She-"

"I don't want to hear it!" The girl voice shouted to the new voice. "You're a jerk, Danny! I hate you!"

With a sinking feeling, Donatello realized why he couldn't see the two humans that were having a moment. They were standing on the sidewalk above the four brothers, so it was impossible to see them. The chocolate-eyed turtle didn't tell his siblings this, however, and continued to listen to the conversation, all the while jotting down notes is his notepad.

"Savannah, listen to me! Julie came up on me! I didn't know she was gonna kiss me! You have to believe me! I would never do that to you!" The male voice explained frantically.

The girl voice—called Savannah, Donnie wrote down on his notepad—was heard panting in silent bewilderment.

"Savannah, I love you… I would never, _ever _do that to you…" Danny said desperately. The heavier footsteps were heard again, and Danny sounded very close to Savannah. "I _love_ you," he repeated.

"Danny… Oh, Danny, I'm so sorry…!" Savannah sobbed, her voice muffled suddenly, as if she had buried her face into a shirt.

Donnie continued to write. He was intrigued.

"Let's get you back home. You're freezing," Danny suddenly suggested, and there was a ruffling sound, similar to that of clothing being removed and being put on again. "Here, use my jacket."

The two pairs of footsteps soon faded away, and Donatello glanced down to see three awed faces. Donnie grinned.

"I told you this was a good idea," He chuckled, and hopped down off of his younger brother's back. Mikey soon followed suite, followed by Leonardo, and Raphael rose to his feet and stretched his stiff muscles.

"What did they look like…?" Mikey asked curiously. "Was the girl pretty? Did she have blue eyes like me?"

"I-"

"What about the guy? Was he real strong-looking?" Raphael questioned, flexing his arms for emphasis.

"Well, actually-"

"_My sons!_"

All movement between the four turtles immediately ceased. A rock dropped into all of their stomachs as they recognized the voice of their father.

Leonardo was the first one to snap out of his stunned state, as he was the one who slowly turned around to face their father.

"S-sensei…" He stuttered, giving a nervous smile. His brothers slowly turned to their father after that.

"What are you doing out of the lair? Do you realize how late it is?" The rat boomed. He paused. "Why are you so close to the surface?!"

"I-I-! W-we-! Um…" Leonardo stammered.

"We were just, uh…" Raphael tried to help. "We were just listening to… ah… um…"

"Music! We were just listening to the humans' music as their cars went by!" Donatello quickly added.

Michelangelo blinked. "I thought we were looking at humans for Donnie's project," He said, and immediately earned three ice cold glares.

"_Mikey!_" They shouted, clenching their fists and rounding on the freckled turtle.

Suddenly realizing he'd ratted them all out, Mikey chuckled nervously, "Eheh… Oops…"

"You _what?!_" Splinter exclaimed. The turtles flinched at his tone.

"What did you see? _How_ did you see?" Splinter demanded.

"Well, sensei... um… we stacked up on top of each other and I peeked through the sewer drain in order to see them… I um… was taking notes," Donatello held up his notepad. "But we didn't see anything, honest; we only heard them. They were above us."

"What?" Raphael asked, disappointed. "You didn't see them? But I thought…"

"Sorry, Raph… I don't know what they looked like…"

Both Raphael and Michelangelo visibly deflated at this.

"I'll bet she was pretty," Mikey muttered, shuffling his feet across the sewer floor.

"And I bet he was real strong…" Raph added, crossing his arms and looking at his feet.

"And they both sounded really nice," Leonardo added, disappointed but not as much as his other brothers.

Splinter, who had remained silent in thought for a moment, briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Come," He finally said, and, folding his hands behind his back, headed towards the lair again.

The four ten-year-olds shared a glance and followed him through the sewer tunnels.

* * *

Donatello huffed as he leaned over the table of their kitchen, stretching his arm to maximum length as he scrubbed its surface with a soapy sponge. Once he'd scrubbed it all down, he rinsed all of the soap out of the sponge and began wiping up the soap on the table. Once he was finished, he turned and started wiping down the counter.

Instead of a good round of randori, Splinter decided to punish his sons by making them clean the entire lair. It hadn't been very daunting at first; cleaning was never really a problem for anyone but Mikey. But when the mutant rat had retrieved a box full of cleaning supplies, the turtles knew that they shouldn't have been surprised that they weren't let off easily.

In addition to removing every little germ from the lair, the four brothers also got a long lecture about how sticking their noses where they didn't belong. It was soon followed by _another_ lecture about paying attention to Master Splinter's lectures after Michelangelo was caught drifting off.

But the cleaning and the lectures wasn't what Donatello was so bummed about. No, it was the fact that Splinter told him he was no longer to study humans and their strange ways. He told him it was dangerous, and that if someone were to glance down at the sewer drain and spot a child's eyes, they would most likely call authorities to investigate, and then their home would most likely be exposed.

Donatello understood this reason perfectly. He could even think of other reasons as to why getting so close to the human race was a bad idea, but… But they were just so intriguing!

They could build machines that could fly them across the ocean in a matter of hours, when it would take months to sail across. They could create antidotes to otherwise incurable diseases. They could write books—_fascinating_ books, about anything and everything. They were even able to meet people of the opposite gender—something Donnie knew would most likely never happen to him. They could start a family! They could make friends! They could-! They could-!

Donatello paused.

What else could they do?

'_Anything… Humans can accomplish _anything_,' _the purple clad turtle thought.

Finally finishing up in cleaning the kitchen, Donatello straightened up the box that held his father's cleaning supplies, and headed for his room—for his notebook.

Once there, he flipped to a blank page—which was becoming harder to do with each passing day—and grabbed a pencil from his nightstand. He hopped up on his bed, pulling his knees up to himself in order to have something sturdy that would support his notebook as he wrote in it.

He stuck his tongue out in thought, narrowing his eyes as he jotted down words as fast as he could. He didn't want to forget this idea. Not now. Not ever.

Once he wrote down everything that came to mind, he scanned over his scribbles and smiled.

He couldn't wait to get started.

"Donatello."

The olive turtle jumped, nearly throwing his notepad in the air in the process.

"Jeez, sensei, you gonna give me a heart attack!" Donatello placed a hand upon his hammering heart.

"I apologize, my son. I did not mean to startle you," The mutant rat chuckled. "But I must speak with you."

"Uh, hai, sensei; just let me put this away," Donatello said, closing his notebook and placing his pencil on its respective place on his nightstand.

"Actually, my son; your notebook is precisely what I wish to discuss," Splinter stopped the turtle just before the ten-year-old could slip it back underneath his bed.

Donnie blinked at him, pausing for a moment. "Oh." He pulled the notebook back out.

Splinter came further into the room, and sat himself on Donatello's freshly made bed.

"May I see it?" He asked, holding his paw out to his son.

"Sure, I guess…" The chocolate-eyed turtle muttered bashfully, and placed the tattered notebook in his father's mutated hand.

"You have nothing to fear, my son. I am only curious," Splinter assured him, his eyes sparkling in amusement as he read the cover of the notebook.

'**Donnie's Notebook. Do not touch! (That means you, Mikey -_- .)**'

The mutant rat opened the book, his eyes taking in the pages of scribbles and sketches on the lined yellow papers. He was absolutely marveled at his son's intelligence. Some of the terms found on the paper were words that Splinter had never even heard of—never mind understand. The words that he _could_ understand, however, let him conclude what he'd been after when he stopped on the most previously written page.

"You… wish to become human…?" Splinter asked carefully, eyes still trying to absorb what he was reading.

"W-well… I-I… I mean… It's just an idea…" Donatello stammered.

"Tell me, my son, what you would do if you were to become human," Splinter said, closing the notebook and placing it beside him.

"W-well…" Donatello was blushing, now. His family hardly ever paid attention to his ideas. It's not that they didn't care; it was that Donnie was incredibly shy about his interests, and was just a bit afraid of being made fun of for it.

"I-I… I would… go to school… to college… I would… I would grow up and be a scientist… I'd have a bunch'a friends… Smart friends, who are smart, like me… and I'd… I'd meet a… a girl… and I'd have a family… a family that _I_ could care for… That _I_ could protect. I'd… I'd be… _normal_…" As Donatello rambled, his eyes slowly drifted longingly to pipes on the ceiling of his room, chocolate irises seeing something beyond the sewer walls.

Splinter's heart ached for his child. The dreams that he held would never be able to come true. There was no way a mutant turtle could possibly become human.

Splinter paused that thought.

There was also no way for a man to possibly become a mutant rat.

Splinter placed a four-fingered paw on his son's shoulder. The olive turtle turned his big brown eyes on him, and Splinter saw what he would expect to see in only the most intelligent man alive.

Donnie's eyes held so much potential; so much talent just waiting to be out to good use. They held the very stars behind their chocolate depths.

"Donatello," Splinter said, looking him dead in the eye, "You have a dream that is not meant to simply be followed…"

Donatello's expression turned into that of confused hurt.

"…You have a dream that is meant to be _chased_. You have a _mind_ that even the stars cannot out-shine…"

Donatello's mind—quick as ever—caught on to what his father was saying, and a small grin broke across his lips.

"…You are intelligent, and have one of the biggest hearts I have ever seen. This… dream… This… _goal _that you are planning to accomplish… will be one that I believe will one day become reality. Donatello," Splinter said, smiling at the hope shining in his son's eyes, "you are destined for something amazing… Something even mere humans will not be able to comprehend."

After that, Splinter saw no need to go on, for Donatello had already flung his arms around the rat, and mutant rodent returned the embrace.

"I'll make ya' proud, dad," Donatello said softly over his father's shoulder. "I promise…"

* * *

As Donatello was rummaging around his laboratory for any more necessities that could be brought with him to the van, a flash of yellow caught his eye as it fell to the floor.

Donnie picked it up, and, after recognizing it to be his notebook, clutched it in a white-knuckle grip. He knew he should be hurrying, but figured that a few seconds wouldn't hurt. He flipped through it, landed on a page that had been extended into several pages, and finally flipped to the very last page of that progress.

It had taken years for Donatello to realize that he truly would never become human.

However, written on the bottom right-hand corner of the old, stained, yellow, lined paper, was a little note that Donatello didn't recognize as his own handwriting. Squinting his eyes in order to make out the words through the weathered paper, he soon felt a lump form in his throat as he read it.

'**Dreams are not meant to be followed. They are meant to be chased.**'

'_Master Splinter…' _Donatello thought, and suddenly wiped furiously at his eyes. _'No. Now's not the time. You've gotta be strong. Everyone's hurting right now, not just you.'_

"Yo' Donnie! You ready to go, or what?" Michelangelo's voice drifted into the lab, and Donatello closed the notebook.

"Yeah…" He croaked back. "Yeah, just give me a second…"

Donnie's chocolate irises scanned the notebook. So many memories… packed into one little book.

He debated on whether it was considered a necessity or not, and, after hugging the notebook close to his plastron, put it on the bottom of a cardboard box and put it in the safest place of what remained of his laboratory.

Sucking in a deep breath, Donatello went back into the rubble he used to call his living room.

"Donnie? You okay?" He snapped his eyes over to April, and gave her a small smile.

"Yeah… Let's get going. Casey's probably waiting for us," Donnie replied. April seemed to accept his answer and headed for the turnstiles.

Mikey, who saw right through his big brother's mask, caught his eye. They looked at each other for a second, and, as if sharing the same thought at the same time, had to break eye contact before the other saw the water that had welled up in their eyes.

Their lair was destroyed.

The place where they once called 'home'… was _gone_…

…and their father probably was, too.

* * *

**Me:** That last part takes place during "_The Invasion" ._ A little darker than I intended it to be, but I hope it turned out okay :) .


	5. E is for Eigne

The ABC's of Turtle Tots

'_E' is for Eigne_

_By: Soniclover28_

_Eigne: first born_

* * *

"Leo, come play with me…"

"Not now, Mikey… I'm busy."

"You're watching _Space Heroes_!"

"So?"

"You can watch it later! I wanna _plaaaay_…!"

"Why don't you go ask Donnie or Raph?"

"Donnie's mad at me for breaking my car again and Raphie's still in trouble."

Leonardo huffed. He couldn't argue with that.

The nine year-old pushed the 'pause' button on the old VCR, and stood up beside his freckled little brother.

"Alright, Mike; what do you wanna play?"

The orange-clad turtle placed his finger on his chin, tapping it a few times as he hummed in thought. He suddenly perked up.

"What about hide-and-sneak?" Michelangelo asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Don't we need Raph and Donnie to play that?"

"Yeah, I guess…" Michelangelo pondered for a moment more, and then his eyes suddenly sparkled again. "You wanna go skateboarding?"

Leonardo smiled. That was more like it; the blue-clad turtle hadn't been on his skateboard for a while.

"Sure; I'll ask Sensei if we can go, and you go get our boards," Leo said, already trotting off to find his father. An excited 'okay' reached his ears as he jogged into the dojo.

* * *

"Leo, watch this!" Mikey grinned, and performed a trick on his skateboard. The board rolled on the side of the sewer tunnel, and, as Mikey started rolling back down, he flipped his board under his feet, and landed squarely back on the ground, with the wheels still speeding smoothly.

"Nice!" Leonardo praised. "Now watch how a _real_ pro does it!"

The blue-clad turtle smirked when he saw Mikey roll his eyes, and the turtle swerved to the wall of the cylinder-shaped tunnel, and, as he came back down, did a full, whole-body-and-board spin while gripping the side of his board.

"Cool! Let me try!" Mikey grinned again, and performed the trick. Though it was a bit unsteady and he almost crashed into Leonardo at the landing, he executed it well.

"Good job," Leonardo smiled at his little brother. He glanced around the tunnels of the sewers, and suddenly realized how far they'd gone from home. "Race you back to the lair, Mikey," Leonardo challenged.

"Oh, you are _on!_" Mikey narrowed his eyes in determination as he turned sharply and whizzed right past his big brother. Leonardo chuckled and gave chase.

* * *

"Sensei!" Leo shrieked, bursting through the turnstiles of the abandoned subway. "_Sensei!_"

The mutant rat appeared from the dojo immediately, with a red-clad turtle in tow.

'_Figures,'_ Leo couldn't help but think, _'I probably just got him out of a lecture.'_

"Leonardo, what is the matter?" Splinter asked, concern laced in every word. He met the blue-clad turtle at the turnstiles in an instant, taking in the panicked look in the young turtles' blue depths.

"_Mikey-_! Mikey, he-!" Leonardo gasped breathlessly.

Splinter needed no more explanation.

"Donatello, Raphael, you will stay here while Leonardo takes me to your brother," Splinter said, and turned back to his oldest turtle. "Lead the way, my son."

Leonardo sprinted down the tunnels of the sewer, his adrenaline giving him an extra burst of speed.

Splinter followed him, and, while they ran, his senses where on high alert for danger. He soon heard a faint wail of pain, and scooped up his son leading the way, running twice as fast as Leonardo could have to the source of the crying.

Splinter froze in his tracks as he rounded a corner.

"Michelangelo!" Splinter cried, placing Leonardo on the ground and rushing to the pained turtle.

The orange-clad nine-year-old was holding his arm and wailing in utter, miserable pain. His forearm was twisted at an odd angle; Michelangelo's entire forearm was covered in a nasty, purple bruise, and the mutant rat could see him gradually paling.

Splinter carefully picked Michelangelo up, being very mindful of his arm, and cradling him in his arms.

"Hush, my son," He cooed, gently stroking the freckled turtle's bald. Michelangelo whimpered miserably, burying his head into his father's chest. "Leonardo," Splinter called softly, his voice laced in calm and controlled demeanor, "Collect your brother's skateboard and we shall head home."

* * *

Splinter placed his injured son on the couch in the pit of the lair, being mindful of the arm he was holding close to his chest. The freckled turtle was no longer wailing, but was hiccupping and taking frantic breaths.

"S-sen-…D-dad…" He gasped, clenching his eyes shut and grinding his teeth. "H-hurts…" Michelangelo whimpered though his shuddering form.

"I understand, my son; you must remain strong for a moment. Where are you in pain the most?" Splinter asked, kneeling down in front of the couch.

"A-arm… I-I-… L-leo-… W-we-"

"I am not concerned how, Michelangelo; save your strength. You must let me see your arm, my son," Splinter spoke softly but urgently.

The pained turtle removed the hand covering his forearm, and Splinter, ever so carefully, inspected it. He found a nasty, purple bruise a few inches above his wrist, and found that his entire forearm was swelled up. He gave a worried glance to his freckled son.

"Sensei…?" Splinter's ears perked when he heard his eldest son's voice, and he turned his head to see him and his brothers casting worried glances at the rat and turtle.

Splinter found that Leonardo was standing very stiffly, wringing his hands as his face portrayed a great deal of guilt and shame.

"Will he be okay…?" He asked in a small voice.

"I believe so, Leonardo."

All three brothers visibly relaxed a little at this.

"Can we help?"

"Of course; Donatello, I need you to find a green container in the kitchen filled with a strong smelling herb. Raphael, I need you to fetch a wet wash cloth and a bowl of cool water. Leonardo, go and find the first-aid kit," Splinter requested, already turning back to his injured son.

"_Hai,_ sensei," The three older brothers nodded their heads and set off on their own missions.

While they were gone, Splinter ran his fingers along the swelled area of Michelangelo's arm, stopping his movements only to inspect the young one's facial expression. He quickly pulled his fingers away when he had run them over a knot in the freckled turtle's arm, a pang of guilt stabbing through him when Michelangelo cried out in pain.

"Michelangelo," Splinter addressed him softly, running a paw across the turtle's bald. "I am afraid that your arm is broken, my son."

Michelangelo nodded, still hiccupping like mad in pain until fear quickly flashed in his blue irises.

"W-what-… Wh-what about-… 'chucks…?"

Splinter gazed at his son for a moment and replied, "I do not know. But you are strong. You will heal."

"Sensei!"

Splinter's ears swiveled when he heard Donatello's voice ring out behind him, and he turned to see his tech-talented son holding out a green can the size of a pot up to his father.

"Thank you, Donatello. The last thing I need you to fetch is my teapot from the stove as well as a cup," Splinter said, opening the lid to the can and taking a small whiff of the strong-smelling herb.

"Hai, sensei," Donnie nodded, and bolted back to the kitchen.

Raphael and Leonardo soon came back with what they were asked to retrieve, and Splinter got to work with the first-aid kit and the wet washcloth. He placed the cool rag on his son's forehead after removing his newly acquired mask.

"Sensei—" Donatello appeared again, "Here, sensei."

Splinter nodded his thanks and took the teapot and cup from his son. He crushed up the herbs Donatello had given him, and placed them in the cup. He poured the near-scalding water into the cup, and stirred it with his finger, deciding only when his finger stopped stinging that the medicine was ready.

Michelangelo, tired and fatigued from pain, had started whimpering again.

"Michelangelo," Splinter softly said, "You must drink this."

Helping his son sit up, Splinter coaxed the green mixture down Mikey's throat, and, only when every last drop was gone, did he lower it again.

"Raphael," Splinter suddenly addressed, "I need you to fetch me a proper pillow and a blanket; your brother is not to be moved for some time."

Raphael wordlessly nodded and sprinted off to his little brother's room.

"Daddy…" Michelangelo called, reaching his uninjured hand to his father to address him. "What was that stuff…? My arm… doesn't hurt… anymore…"

"Rest, my son; you must rest," Splinter cradled his son's head in his paw while the blue-eyed turtle's eyelids started to droop. When he finally slipped into a doze, Raphael had come back with a blanket, a pillow, and a stuffed teddy bear that had duct tape wound around its neck and abdomen.

Splinter thanked the three older sons for their help, and dismissed them to their rooms to play while he put a splint on his freckled son's arm.

* * *

"Leo… What happened to Mikey…?" Donatello finally asked him and his older brother's question as they all entered the techno-talented brother's room.

"He broke his arm," Leonardo answered shakily, fumbling with the pad on his elbow.

"_How_, shell-for-brains?" Raphael snapped, crossing his arms.

"We were, uh, racing… back to the lair. And he—um—slipped and fell off of his skateboard, and then I ran back here and got sensei," Leo explained. He let out a shaky breath. "It's my fault—it was my idea to race and I should've known Mikey would try to show off his tricks…"

"He better be okay, Leo, or so help me-…" Raphael stopped himself when Donatello sent him a warning glare.

"Don't start in my room. Not in my room; don't you dare break anything," the nine-year-old said, his eyes narrowing in a protective manner.

"Whatever," Raphael rolled his eyes, "I'm gonna go see how sensei's doin'."

"But he just told us to stay in our rooms," Leonardo piped.

Raphael shrugged uncaringly and strolled right over to the pit where his father and brother were.

Leonardo huffed.

Why did he even bother?

* * *

"Leonardo," Splinter addressed, settling himself on his knees in the floor of his dojo.

"Hai, sensei…?" Leo replied nervously. He was in the same position as his father, though his head was bowed in shame.

"Michelangelo's arm is broken, my son. I believe it will heal; he will regain full use of it in time," Splinter started. "I also believe you are smart enough to realize this, so, tell me: what is troubling you?"

The nine-year-old flinched as if he'd been smacked in the face. He slowly brought his deep blue eyes to meet his father's sharp brown irises.

"I-it's my fault, sensei… I should'a never asked him to race…" Leonardo said. "I was showing off, and-and I guess he tried to out-show me, and… h-he just… crashed…"

"I see," Splinter replied, closing his eyes in thought for a moment. Finally, he said, "Michelangelo was bound to stumble and fall; he has a habit of that, does he not?" Splinter gave a slight smile of amusement. "Michelangelo looks up to you, my son; he looks up to all of you. He wants to be just like you in every way, because he admires his older brothers."

"I-I understand, sensei… but I should've been there to protect him… I'm his big brother… It's my job…" Leo looked downwards again.

There was a pause, and then the mutant rat replied, "You are correct."

Leo's head snapped up in surprise.

"It is your job to protect your brothers from danger. However," Splinter said, his eyebrows creasing ever so slightly, "it is also _my _duty to protect _all_ of you. Is it not my responsibility to prevent Michelangelo from breaking his arm? Is it not my responsibility to keep him from falling down a drain pipe?"

"But that wasn't your fault! The tunnels were slick, and he should've been more careful!" Leonardo burst, paused, and gave a shy grin. "Oh. I get it, now."

Splinter nodded. "Although, I assume I will have to find a helmet for that boy," he smiled softly.

Leonardo giggled in agreement.

* * *

"Sensei… You gotta stop… spinning… You're gonna make Raphie blue…" Mikey ran his uninjured hand down his face, only removing it when he got a confused _'what?'_ from his older brother.

"I think you'd look good in blue."

"Shut up, Leo."

"Watch your tongue, Raphael."

"Sorry, sensei."

Leonardo grinned and hopped up on the couch beside his little brother. Being mindful of his arm, Leo settled himself down on the pillow Mikey was using, and observed his freckled brother's face.

"Leo…" Mikey said woozily, "You're sitting on her…"

Leonardo blinked. "Who?"

Mikey stared up at his oldest sibling for a moment with bleary eyes, shrugged, and snuggled back into his pillow.

"His medication should wear off by tomorrow evening. I fear that when his pain returns, I will have to give him more herbs. Hopefully, he will remain strong," Splinter commented, watching in slight amusement as Michelangelo placed a hand over Leo's mouth, as if to silence him.

"You're too loud…"

"I didn't even say anything," Leonardo smirked, removing the hand from his mouth.

"Shh…" Mikey yawned. "'Nnie's tryn'a sleep."

"''Nnie'…? Is he talkin' 'bout Donnie? He hasn't called him that since he was little," Raphael said.

"His brain's still trying to catch up with what's going on, Raph; it's not uncommon for someone under this much medication to talk nonsense," Donnie explained. "Although…" He added bashfully, "It is kinda' cool to hear him call me that again… It's been a while…"

"Indeed," Splinter smiled softly.

"He's growing up," Leo grinned in pride at his little brother.

"You all are, Leonardo. You are all becoming strong and noble ninjas. Perhaps one day I might even allow you to journey up to the surface."

"Really?!" The three older turtles exclaimed, making a certain freckled turtle jump.

"Yes… and no. That is a matter we will later discuss. I believe Leonardo wishes to spend the night with Michelangelo on the couch. You two should head off to bed."

"Hai, sensei," Donnie and Raph said, and trotted off to their rooms with a quick _'g'night'_.

Once Splinter was gone, and Leo and Mikey were alone, Leo carefully wrapped an arm around his little brother, who snuggled closer towards him in response.

As Leonardo was drifting to sleep, Mikey shifted, and Leo's hand brushed over the cast on Mikey's arm, and a sentence, a feeble little thought that snuck into Leo's mind, caught his attention as he fell asleep.

'_You're the big brother; they all look up to you, so protect them.'_

Ever since then, Hamato Leonardo has dedicated his life to protecting his brothers from danger; even the things he has no control of.

* * *

**Me:** 'Till next time ;)


	6. F is for Fimicolous

The ABC's of Turtle Tots

'_F' is for Fimicolous_

_By: Soniclover28_

_Fimicolous: of or relating to an organism that lives on or in animal excrement._

* * *

"Daddy!"

Splinter was to his feet immediately when six year-old Donatello burst into his room. Wild panic was evident in his son's eyes, but Splinter could sense that there was nothing dangerously wrong.

"Dad—Sensei!" Donnie exclaimed breathlessly, running into Splinter and clutching his kimono and gazing up at his father. "We gotta _move_!"

"Donatello, what is the matter?" Splinter asked. He lifted gap-toothed turtle into his arms, where he gripped Splinter by the sides of his muzzle.

The olive turtle rarely came to his father in distress—but, like all children, he had their moments that required a parental figure.

"Dad I was on my laptop and—y'know how humans gotta _go _sometimes—it's so nasty, and—Dad, we have to move!"

"Why, my son? Are you not perfectly happy here, in our home?" Splinter questioned, puzzled.

"Yeah! I love the lair, daddy! But we have to move, 'cause—" The boy shuddered and whispered into his father's sensitive ear, "—I found out what the sewer's for…"

Splinter blinked for a moment—not shocked by the information, but puzzled on how to react to it.

"Daddy did you know that we live where humans'—"

"Yes, I am well aware, Donatello," Splinter cut him off quickly and gave a sigh—a humored sigh, which confused Donnie—and gave his son an understanding smile. "My son, I know we do not live in the cleanest of places, but where else to hide but where we know humans will never venture?"

"Yeah, but… What about those workers we spotted the other day?"

"They rarely venture very far into the tunnels, my son," Splinter reasoned, and finally placed Donatello back onto the mat in his soft, candlelit room.

"But my point still stands, Sensei—we live in—"

"Home is not the condition of one's living space—home is where you learn and grow. Home is where your heart is, my son. I have taught you this," Splinter explained.

"But I learned and grew here. In the sewers. In the humans'—"

"_Yame_," Splinter interrupted, not harshly or scolding, but simply signaling for Donnie to stop talking. "You are lucky to even have a roof over your head and food on the table. Many are not blessed with even this, my son. So instead of complaining about your home, embrace it; for one day, we may not have the pit of our lair, or your laboratory."

Donnie seemed to consider this, look into his father's eyes and nod, and bow. "_Hai_, Sensei."

Splinter nodded in satisfaction and followed his son into the dojo.

"Donatello," Splinter suddenly addressed the svelte turtle, "Please do not mention this news to your brothers. For their own sakes, I ask that they figure out on their own what lies in the sewers."

Donnie chuckled a '_Hai, Sensei_' and left the dojo.

Splinter couldn't help but smirk to himself, and retreat back into his room to meditate.

* * *

"Dad!"

Splinter's eyes snapped open and he was to his feet in a second. Unlike the previous encounter with his son today, the rat sensed danger.

"Dad!" Donatello burst into his room for the second time that day with a panicked look on his face. "Dad, we were in the tunnels and Raph fell in the sewer water!"

Splinter didn't let him finish as he scooped him up and burst into the main room of the lair.

"Sensei, he got out but I think he swallowed some and he threw up, and—"

"Where is your brother?" Splinter cut him short as he realized that his three other sons were not in the lair.

"In the tunnels, still. We were-"

Splinter ran out of their home and went straight for the sewer tunnels.

"Which one?"

"That way. Dad, he was trying to show Mikey a trick but he slipped and fell in."

"My son, Donatello—please, allow me a moment to think," Splinter said as he rushed towards his sons. He found them crowded around Raphael, whom was curled up holding his stomach. The mutant rat placed Donatello on the ground and carefully picked up Raphael. The turtle was soaked in the contaminated water that flourished in the sewers, and Splinter's heart dropped when he remembered Donnie telling him that Raphael had thrown up.

He had swallowed sewer water.

As if the thought weren't disgusting enough, Splinter also knew that this would mean stomach aches, diarrhea, possible fevers, and, if it was very bad, an illness that would be beyond what Splinter could cure.

"Let us get you home, my son," Splinter told the emerald turtle softly, and, after giving his other sons a quick look-over for anything wrong—not that Mikey staring off into space was normal—started off towards the lair at a pace the six year-olds could keep up with.

Once in the lair, Splinter took Raphael straight to the water bin they used for bathing and gave him a bath.

"How are you feeling, my son?" Splinter asked softly as he gently scrubbed away at the muck in the crevices of his son's shell.

"My stomach hurts," Raph replied, sticking his tongue out and making a face.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No," Raphael grimaced, "Not compared to hitting my head on the pipes."

"What are you talking about?" Splinter paused in washing his son.

Raphael looked up at his father, blinking green eyes meeting concerned brown.

"Mikey was tryn'a do a trick and he slipped. I went in after him but I fell in, too," Raph explained.

"So Michelangelo landed in the sewer water, as well?" Splinter exclaimed, preparing to shoot out of the bathroom.

"No, Sensei—We were walking on the high pipelines and Mikey slipped and hit his head and I went after him, only I fell in the water," Raphael said, cupping the bubbles in his little place of water.

Splinter tried to remember if he'd seen Mikey with any visible injuries, but found that he already couldn't recall now that his adrenaline had died down.

"Rinse yourself off, my son—I must check on your brother." Even as Splinter said this, Leonardo appeared at the doorframe to the little bathroom, looking worriedly up at his father.

"Something's wrong with Mikey, Sensei," Leo said, his deep blue eyes flickering towards the pit of the lair.

Splinter was out of the bathroom in record timing.

"Michelangelo," Splinter called, and spotted his son in the pit of the lair. The rat came deeper into the main living space and walked up to his freckled son. He was seated on the couch with Donatello, leaning heavily on the gap-toothed turtle and fighting to keep his eyes open.

Donnie looked up at his father's presence.

"Dad, something's wrong; he won't talk to me," he said, and used both hands to try to sit his brother up off of him. Mikey's head lolled and rolled on his shoulders, and he almost fell over had Splinter not immediately sat down and took Mikey into his arms.

"Michelangelo," Splinter called again. The turtle's bleary and unfocused eyes turned towards his father's general direction. "Michelangelo, what is wrong?" The rat checked his son's pulse and placed a hand on his head.

"I think he might have a concussion," Donnie said quietly. Splinter nodded, and turned towards Donatello.

"My son, you must help me. What part of your brother's head was hurt?"

"Here," Donnie said, and tapped an area near his temple. A stone dropped in Splinter's stomach.

Upon further inspection, Splinter found an open wound on the side of Michelangelo's head. It was small, but Splinter was surprised at himself for having not noticing it beforehand.

"Donatello, fetch me the first-aid kit," Splinter requested, and the turtle nodded and set to find the box. The rat turned back to his half-conscious son. Michelangelo's eyes were drooping, and he lay limply in his father's arms.

"Michelangelo, you must look at me. Look at me, my son," Splinter said, lightly tapping the turtle's cheek.

"Ugh…" Mikey sputtered, turned his head to the side and started to gag. Thinking quickly, Splinter sat the boy up and slowly started walking to the bathroom. He wanted to rush, but seeing as his son was about to throw up, Splinter prayed he would wait until he'd reached the toilet.

Once there, Mikey took a moment before finally emptying his contents. Splinter held him there, trying to provide any comfort he could. Raphael, who was in the process of drying off, fetched him a cool rag, which Splinter used to wipe off Mikey's plastron and face.

When the freckled turtle was finished, he lifted his head up, looking very much more aware and actually meeting his father's eyes before leaning against him.

"My son, what is your name?" Splinter suddenly asked.

"Wha?" Mikey blinked and looked up confusedly.

"What is your name?"

"M-Mikey," The little turtle answered.

"What is your whole name?"

"Hamato Michelangelo."

"What are your brothers' names?"

"Uh- Donnie, Leo and Raph."

"What is your favorite color?"

Mikey actually smiled at this. "Orange."

Splinter nodded, "I must ask one final question, my son."

"Okay, daddy," Mikey nodded.

"I am red and wooden. When you hit me on my head, I turn black. What am I?"

Completely put off by the question, Mikey glanced to the bathroom doorway where his brothers were standing, his eyes boggling. The older siblings gave him a helpless shrug, and Mikey turned back to his father.

"Uhm… Raphie…?" He guessed.

Splinter couldn't help but laugh. His son was alright. Sure he had a little bump on the head but that was nothing some herbal tea and an icepack couldn't cure. The throwing-up was most likely the last and most dangerous symptom.

"No, my son. A match," Splinter stood with Mikey in his arms, and strode out of the bathroom. "Come, my sons. Let us watch a movie tonight and rest, hm? And Raphael, if you feel the need to throw up or use the toilet, do not hesitate to tell me or ask for assistance."

"Hai, Sensei," came the reluctant reply.

Once the family of mutants were settled on the couch, with Mikey holding an icepack to his head and Raphael in close range to a trashcan, the four turtles were piled on top of their father.

Splinter called out one of his sons names and Donatello, who was half-laying and half-sitting underneath Leonardo, looked up to the rat.

"I understand your reasoning to move, my son. But I still do not think—"

"You kiddin' daddy? I don't really wanna move," Donnie giggled. "I love it here."

"Me too," Leo voiced.

"Same here."

"Yeah!"

Splinter looked at all of his sons in turn, smiled, and settled back into the couch.

"Then this is where we will forever live, my sons. This will forever be our home."

And in that moment, inspiration struck.

"Sewer, sweet sewer!" Mikey exclaimed, throwing his arms up and accidently smacking Raphael in the face with his ice-pack.

Splinter chuckled.

"It is, indeed, Michelangelo," Splinter smiled fondly. "It is, indeed."

* * *

**Me:** sorry it took so long but spring break is here! So things should get rolling for a little while ;)


	7. G is for Geta

The ABC's of Turtle Tots

'_G' is for Geta_

_By: Soniclover28_

_Geta: wooden-soled Japanese shoe_

* * *

The sky was gray, and when the sky was gray, it meant that the rain was coming.

When the rain was coming, it meant that water would fall and slip into the lowest places of New York.

When the rain slipped into the lowest places in New York, it meant that the water would go to the sewers.

When the water goes to the sewers, it meant that it would flood the certain tunnels that were perfect for skateboarding.

And when those tunnels that were perfect for skateboarding got flooded…

…it meant that Mikey would be _bored._

Like, hit-your-head-repeatedly-on-the-tree-in-the-dojo bored.

"Mikey, you're gonna get a headache," Donnie said, not even looking up from his book. He was up in the tree sitting on a branch to get some peace from his three brothers. And then Mikey had come and found him.

"I don't care," the freckled turtle groaned, and bumped his head on the tree again. "I'm so _bored_…!"

"Go watch _Space Heroes _with Leo, or something," Donnie suggested with an exasperated roll of the eyes, and Mikey paused in cracking his skull for a moment before replying.

"No, he's sick," Mikey sighed, and hit his head on the tree again.

"What about Raph?"

"Grounded."

"Sensei?"

"Grounding Raph."

"Well, what do you want _me _to do about it?" Donnie shut his book with his thumb on the page he was on, and gestured down to Mikey.

The freckled turtle, with his head pressed up against the tree holding his weight, only shrugged.

Donatello rolled his eyes again as Mikey continued the _thump-thump-thump_ of his head hitting the tree, and tried to resume his reading.

'_Maybe if I wait long enough he'll knock himself out,' _Donnie thought, glancing down in mild amusement.

Eventually, the older brother tuned out the rhythmic thumps, and got through a whole page of his book before his brother started the whining.

_Oh, _the whining.

"Auuuugh." Mikey kept moaning in despair, as if being bored were actually _hurting _him.

"Auuuuuuuuuugh…"

Donnie's eye twitched.

"_Auuuuugh…"_

His eyes glared down to his little brother.

"I'm so _boooooreeeeed_…"

"Mikey—"

"_Auuuuuuuuugh…_"

"Mikey, sto—"

"_Auuuuuuuuuuuuugh…_"

"_Mikey!"_

At the squawk, Mikey lifted his head from the tree to see his brother scowling down at him in annoyance. The ten-year-old simply stared at him for a moment before letting his head fall back on the tree with a soft _'thump'_.

Donnie sighed with a defeated look on his face, and his hope for finishing his book faded as he hopped out of the tree. The purple-banded turtle grabbed Mikey by the arm and started to drag him out of the dojo.

"Where are we goin'?" Mikey asked, but let himself be pulled.

"To find you something to do."

* * *

"_Lion King_?" Donnie suggested, holding up said VCR tape.

"Seen it."

"_Little Mermaid_?"

"Seen it…"

"_Winnie the Pooh_…"

"I'm not a baby."

"Beg to differ," Donnie muttered under his breath, and sighed in defeat. "Okay, so no movies; what about a video game?"

Mikey pondered for a moment, shrugged, and said, "Sure."

So Donnie pulled out the crate that held the very few video games they had.

"_Sonic the Hedgehog_?"

"Beat it."

"_Sonic the Hedgehog 2_?"

"Beat it."

"_Donkey Kong?_"

"Nah."

"What about your Gameboy? Isn't it in your room?"

"I lost the charger."

Donnie let his head smack against the T.V., and stood up again to face his little brother. The ten-year-olds stared at each other for a moment—one innocently and the other a deadpan.

"Oh, could I go into your lab? Maybe I could help you with something," Mikey grinned, and hopped off of the couch in the pit.

"Wha—no!" He exclaimed. The chocolate-eyed turtle crossed his arms. "You always break my stuff."

"C'mon, please, Donnie? I won't break nothin', I promise!"

"…Fine. But if you so much as scratch a beaker, you're leaving."

"Okay!" Mikey beamed, and ran past Donnie and through the slightly open doors of the lab.

When the family of mutants had first moved in to the subway station, the storage room of the place had been cram packed with boxes and junk and furniture and who-knows-what else. Donatello had begun cleaning out the room just recently, hoping to turn it into a lab of sorts. It was currently holding countless boxes and stray items on one half and the other occupied with tools and projects in the making.

"When're you gonna clean all this up?" Mikey asked, inspecting a few of the boxes crammed together.

"Whenever I get the chance, I guess. I really need to—I'm running out of room over here," Donnie smirked. "Maybe you'd like to that today?"

"Pfft—nice try. But I do wanna look through these; might find somethin' I want," Mikey replied, and carelessly tipped over a box, watching as its contents spilled out with a crash.

"Mikey!" Donnie exclaimed, "What did I just say about not breaking anything?"

"You said don't break _your _stuff," Mikey retorted, sitting down cross-legged by his new junk pile. "This is mine now, heh," He chuckled and stuck his tongue out at his older brother.

Donnie merely rolled his eyes and padded over to his work desk.

Mikey began rummaging through the pile, at first only finding subway train tickets and a few manuals and then finding a few dollars and change. He made two piles separate from the main one; one for the stuff he wanted to keep, and one for the junk he was going to throw away.

After about ten minutes he was finished with the first box, and took all the stuff he didn't want and put it back into its cardboard home. He shoved the box behind him, and simply dragged out another one. This one held emergency tools—first aid kits, and the like. He put that aside for Sensei to look through, and, by the time dinner had rolled around, Mikey had a mountain of items to show his family.

They were gathered around the giant pile in Donatello's laboratory, watching as Michelangelo grabbed and distributed his new finds to his family.

"And—and this, Raph, I think you'll like this—" Mikey was saying excitedly as he dug through his enormous pile that was almost as tall as he was, and pulled out a red, octagonal shape, and held it up for his family to see.

"A stop sign?" Raph gave him a deadpan.

"I thought it'd look cool in your room, bro," Mikey said, handing the traffic sign to his older sibling.

The red-banded turtle shifted his eyes from the sign to his brother, sighed and took the gift, anyways. Who knows, maybe he'd actually use it.

"And, Leo, I found this for you," Mikey continued, and pulled out a little action figure. He turned and handed it to his brother, who hadn't been feeling well all day, and, after receiving a nod of thanks, Mikey turned back to his pile again.

"And I saved these just for you, D," the freckled turtle picked up a pile of notepads and notebooks alike, and sat them down with a thump in front of the gap-toothed turtle.

"Ha-ha, thanks, Mikey," Donnie said, and started flipping through them.

"And I found heels, you guys!" Everyone looked to see Mikey stuffing his three-toed feet into a pair of wooden shoes with two pegs on the bottom of them.

He stood up, and imitated the catwalk by strutting proudly with his hand on his hip. Every step he took made a _click_ on the floor. His brothers laughed, and even Splinter had to smile.

"My son, those are not heels. They are a Japanese shoe called geta," Splinter explained. "A rare find for a place like this, I might add."

"Oh, wow! Have you ever worn some before?" Mikey asked excitedly. The elevated flip-flops added about two inches to his height, and when he tried prancing around, he wobbled, almost fell, but caught himself on his father.

"Yes, but it has been the longest time," the rat replied, his eyes glinting fondly at the old memory.

Encouraged by his father's good-natured nostalgia, Mikey didn't take the pair of geta off until he'd passed out all his goods and played with them with his brothers.

* * *

"Hey, Donnie?" Mikey addressed, as he plucked off his new footwear and set them on the floor beside the couch.

Donnie looked up from the book he'd been reading earlier that day, and Mikey couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks for hanging out with me today."

Donnie couldn't help but smile back and turn his gaze to his book again. "No problem."

"We should do it every day," Mikey suggested, scooting closer to his brother excitedly.

A look of terror appeared on Donnie's face, and his eyes snapped back to his brother. "_No!_ I-I mean, don't you think Raph and Leo'll wanna play, too? And, hey, the tunnels will be clear tomorrow, so you can go skateboarding. I'll even give the wheels a tune-up, if they need it."

"Uhm," Mikey blinked, a bit taken aback by the response, but nonetheless nodded and smiled. "Sure, sounds awesome, D."

"Great! Go get your skateboard, I'll be in my lab!" With that, Donnie abandoned his book and bolted to the lab.

Mikey was left dumbfounded on the couch, blinking in the direction Donnie had left in.

Shrugging, Mikey put his geta back on, and _click-clacked _to his room and back to the lab with his skateboard in hand.

Donnie, as promised, took care of the skateboard and sent Mikey on his way, giving a sigh of relief as he left. He trotted back to the couch, picked up his book, and resumed reading. The sound of Mikey's shoes echoed throughout the lair, and it took a few moments to tune it out, but Donnie managed...

...for about twenty minutes.

"Hey, Donnie, I'm bored."

Donnie's eye twitched.


	8. H is for Hydrophilous

The ABC's of Turtle Tots

'_H' is for Hydrophilous_

_By: Soniclover28_

_Hydrophilous: loving or preferring water_

* * *

It was a hot, summer day on the surface, which meant that the lair would be hot and muggy and smelly from all the sewer water. Donnie had even taken to plugging up his nose with a clothespin he'd found, and had sudden inspiration to fix a fan he'd found a few months ago.

Raph was stretched out on his bed, reading a comic he'd read several times before. Leo was currently going over some rusty katas he'd learned. Donnie was writing away in a little yellow notepad, and Mikey…

"_Please_, Master Splinter? I-I'll help clean the kitchen for a week—_two _weeks!"

Mikey was currently driving Splinter mad.

"Michelangelo, my son, the water here is not clean. You could get ill," He said shortly for the fifth time.

"But _dad_!" He stamped his foot. "We went swimming that one time last year! And we were fine!"

"And since then the humans have built onto it, and it is no longer safe," Splinter replied, not missing a beat.

Michelangelo, however, was having none of it. The eight-year-old clenched his fists, his face growing beet red, and his teeth gnashed together.

"You never let us do _anything_!" He burst, and stomped out of his father's room.

"_Yame_!" Splinter snapped, and Mikey froze halfway through the dojo. Suddenly the mutant rat appeared behind the freckled turtle. "I will not tolerate this disrespect, Michelangelo. To your room," Splinter said, his eyes narrowing. "_Now_."

Instead of withering like Splinter expected him to, Mikey glared like he never had before, and tromped out of the dojo. Leonardo, who had frozen mid-kata to watch the ordeal, quickly looked away when his father caught him staring.

"Never seen Mikey so upset before, Sensei," Leo said quietly.

"He has been asking to go swimming for quite some time, now. He does not understand that it is simply not safe down in the sewers," Splinter sighed, and folded his arms behind his back. "I will talk with him once he has cooled down."

And Splinter was surprised when Leo snorted. At his father's confused look, the blue-banded turtle said, "You do realize he shares a room with _Raph_, right…?"

Splinter's eyes widened.

* * *

"C'mon, Mike, we're almost there," Raphael called, surging forward on his skateboard.

"I am, I am—wait up!" The freckled turtle called, racing after the red-banded turtle on his own board.

After about ten minutes of chase, the two boys arrived at an opening with a giant sewer pipe dumping hundreds of gallons of water into a giant pit below.

"It's one of those that filters out the bad stuff, Donnie said," Raph explained, "But it has a drain at the bottom that'll suck us in if we don't wear our floaties." The red turtle held up the two pairs of arm floats—one pair yellow and the other blue.

"Aw, but I don't wanna wear those, Raphie—they're for babies."

"Well, you've been acting like one all day, so this shouldn't be a problem," Raph retorted, and tossed him the yellow floats.

Mikey glared and slipped them on.

"Okay, ready?" Raph asked, crouched at the ledge and prepared to freefall the five-foot drop. He gave his little brother a side-ways smirk, and, when he received a vigorous nod, was about to spring off when—

"My _sons_! Do _not _jump off of that ledge!"

The two turtles whirled around in time to see their father and two other brothers rushing after them.

Panicked, Mikey turned and tried jumping off the ledge, anyways. Splinter reached forwards just as his feet left the ground, grabbing whatever part of his son's body he could to haul him back. However, Splinter hadn't grabbed Michelangelo, but the float on his arm, and when gravity forced the turtle down, his arm slipped out of it, and into the water he went.

Splinter stared in horror as his son resurfaced with a triumphant smile on his face.

"Ha-ha, you can't get me!" He sing-sang, a giant grin plastered on his face.

"Michelangelo, get back here, _now_!" Splinter pleaded, not looking mad anymore but terrified.

Mistaking the fear for defeat, Mikey simply grinned and did a calm backstroke in the water, his single arm-floaty making his form seem clumsy.

"Hamato Michelangelo, get back here this instant! It is not _safe_!" Splinter was almost baring his teeth, now, he was so angry-looking.

"Sensei, it's fine," Mikey rolled his eyes, "Look, I'll show you."

With that, the freckled turtle slipped the floaty from his arm and, to his father's horror, dove underneath the water.

"My son!"

A few agonizing seconds later, he resurfaced, with a gasp, rubbing at his eyes with a fist.

"The water's great, guys! Come on i—"

"Michelangelo, listen to me!" Splinter interrupted, "This is a _drain _that is near-full! When it flushes, it will take you with it, my son! Get back onto this ledge _now_!"

Suddenly understanding his father's desperate plea, Mikey scrambled in the water to slip his single arm float back on. He started paddling towards his father—a whole twenty feet away.

"Swim to me, Michelangelo!" Splinter leaned over the ledge—the water had risen a whole foot.

"I-I am!" Mikey exclaimed, all evidence of amusement wiped clean from his face.

"Sensei, listen!" Donnie was standing stiffly, his face etched in fear.

A low, gurgling sound could be heard, and Mikey gave a yelp of alarm when he felt something tugging faintly at his feet. The orange-banded turtle swam erratically in panic, gaining five more feet before the family realized what was happening.

"_Swim_, Michelangelo!" Splinter hollered over the growing volume of the gurgling noise.

A current could be seen swirling in the giant pool of water, a funnel forming in the dead cent of it—three feet from where Mikey was. It was faint at first, but when a few seconds slipped by, the funnel was almost as wide as the pool itself.

And Mikey was tiring.

"Sen-Sensei!" he wailed. "Dad, it's gonna get me!"

"Swim, my son! You can do it! You are almost there!" Splinter assured him, reaching his arms out—his son had seven feet to go.

But the current was getting stronger. Mikey was being pulled backwards.

The freckled turtle was crying, now—his breath hitching and his movements becoming slow and clumsy.

"Mikey, come on!" Raph shouted. "_Swim_, dude!

"Dad, we need a rope—Leo, help me look!" Donnie rushed off down the sewer tunnel.

Eight feet. Nine feet.

"Sensei!" Mikey shrieked, and the horrible slurping noise of the water draining was almost deafening.

Splinter was in a panic. His son was in the middle of a _drain_. He couldn't jump after him—his weight would almost immediately drag him down, and he was by no means a great swimmer. He felt selfish—felt disgusting for being so cowardly, but there was no need in risking his sons see their father die.

_So you let them witness their young brother's death?_

Splinter stripped himself of his maroon kimono, and leapt into the water.

He swam swiftly in the water, reaching Michelangelo fairly quickly, and wrapping an arm around his shell. The turtle buried his head in his father's fur at once, sobbing with all he had.

"No, my son—you must swim. Swim!" Splinter hollered over the noise of the drain. The mutant rat looked up, saw that the ledge was a whole ten feet high, now, and three feet away. His stomach grew cold. A burning pricked at his eyes.

"Sensei! Grab on!"

A rope was suddenly hurled from the ledge, landing with a plop in the water. Splinter reached out and grasped it with all his one hand would allow.

Donatello could be seen cupping his hands around his mouth and leaning over the ledge, but his words were somewhat lost in the sound of the horrible drain.

"…Tied to a pipe…hold on…pull you…don't let go…"

Splinter lifted Mikey up with one arm as high as he could onto the rope, and pushed him upwards.

"Climb, my son! Your brothers cannot pull us up on their own!"

Mikey nodded, and started shimming upwards. Splinter did the same, heaving himself from the water and digging his clawed feet into the rope. The freckled turtle slipped many times—for his hands were slick, and so were Splinter's. All the while, the rope was being towed upwards by inches, and the water behind the father and son was a giant whirlpool of roaring water.

Suddenly Raphael was seen over the ledge, peeking, and disappearing again. The rope rose two more feet.

Five to go.

Four.

Three and a half.

Raphael was seen again, leaning over the edge and holding out his hands to Michelangelo. The freckled turtle latched onto his arms, and the red-banded turtle hoisted him onto the ledge. Splinter climbed back on the ledge by himself, while his son collapsed as he did so.

"Mikey!" Donnie was by his brother's side in a second.

"He… He will be alright. He is simply exhausted," Splinter panted, and stood shakily to his feet. With Raph holding his father's kimono, Splinter scooped up the turtle, and started towards their home.

"Sensei, this is all my fault," Raph suddenly hiccupped, grabbing Splinter's attention. "I— it was my idea to come down here, I shouldn't've—I didn't know that it did that, I just thought—Sensei, I'm—I'm sorry."

"Raphael," Splinter addressed in that smooth, deep voice of his. "This is not the time, my son. That will come later. For now, we must go home. Rest."

Raphael nodded and walked silently behind his father.

"But that does not mean you and Michelangelo are not grounded."

And when a disappointed _'awww'_ erupted from both accused turtles, Splinter couldn't help but give a light smile.


End file.
